


Seawater Kisses

by Anonymous



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Beaches, Christmas Party, College, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oh Sehun-centric, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28210887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Under the tilted warmth of lingering gazes and comfortable silence, Sehun falls in love.(Reupload w/ extra content)
Relationships: Kim Jongin | Kai/Oh Sehun
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30
Collections: Anonymous





	Seawater Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> Yes this is a reupload, ghh I hope this version is better. I bolstered it with extra stuff and moved around bits and pieces here and there :D Hope this is...better? And more cohesive T__T I don't usually write slice-of-life so...this was an attempt !

There is - has always been - something simmering at the depths of his gut, dirty, desperate, sticky, and laced with old honey and bitter words. It’s ugly, nasty in the same way that chipped paint on walls and worn breaths are. There’s something more interesting, something more riveting to be gawked at in the asymmetrical cracks and mildew, something with more soul and character than the dull gleam of shiny plastics and sassy pinks. And it drips at the back of his throat like a litany of prayers, familiar and practised, pleasant until it blares in his ears in coarse reminder. Pragmatism, he tells himself, but the burning infatuation, the sticky sweet molasses coursing through his veins tells him he has no such thing. 

So it makes sense that he finds himself dragging his ratty converse, grey socks peeking through black canvas, against rattier sidewalks caked with black gum, cigarette butts, and pretty little weeds framing the cracks. He’s convinced, a man hypnotized by filthy, ugly emotion, that this is just his way of reciprocation, even as his legs ache and the cracked, raw flesh on his knuckles throbs with fading pain. This isn’t what he wants it to be, and that’s fine because what he wants isn’t even really what he should want. 

“You’re here,” Jongin says, perking up slightly. And a stupid smile instantly slips onto Sehun’s lips. Because yeah, he’s tired, and yeah he’s had an awful day, but he’s Jongin, and Jongin makes everything better. Maybe he’s even selfish doing this, he argues, stripping himself of his padded coat and draping himself onto Jongin’s couch. He snuggles up next to Jongin, worming his hand through the crook between Jongin’s back and the cushions, fingers closing up around Jongin’s waist. His nose falls onto Jongin’s shoulder, soft polyester strands tickling his nose. Jongin’s hand falls on his, his fingertips brushing against cracked skin and aged nicks. “Hard day at work today?” he asks, shifting towards his left to look at Sehun. He shuts his eyes and nods, but he can already picture the frown on Jongin's face, and he’ll probably say something sweet and cute like,  _ “You shouldn’t have come here, we could always hang out next week,”  _ And there it is again, an old flame flickering in the proud swell of his chest, awful, uninvited, but warm - familiar. He falls a little deeper, gets worse at quelling the stupid little thing in his chest he calls infatuation. Sure and true to himself, Jongin opens up his mouth to speak, his cold fingers combing through Sehun’s hair, thumbing the bristly strands. “You could’ve canceled,” he whispers, lowering the TV volume. 

“I’m fine,” is the response that Sehun settles for. “I’ll stay awake,” he murmurs.

The crease of Jongin’s brow deepens. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah,” he replies breathily, a mild gaze fixed on Jongin’s frowning face. He reaches out, thumb pressed in the centre of Jongin’s brow, smoothing out the furrow. “Let’s just…” he mumbles. 

Jongin nods in response, and relaxes into Sehun’s arms, thighs skidding off the couch slightly as he hesitantly shifts his focus onto the flickering scenes alternating on the TV screen.

-

Sehun meets Jongin again when the first snow falls, eyelashes tipped with delicate ice crystals, his nose bitten red and cheeks flushed, cold fingertips and warm bodies. He wears an easy smile on his lips, a knit scarf hung around his neck, sloppy and loose. Brown strands of hair fall over his face, and under the neon lights, under the cloaked darkness of this winter night, under Sehun’s heavy gaze, time stops for a moment. And the snow, suspended in the air, the blurred cacophony of students chattering about, office workers and their slick leather dress shoes clicking against the pavement, busy people with busy lives - it slows down to a quiet murmur. It’s almost painful - makes his heart twist in an ugly way - the gentle, oblivious gaze that Jongin meets his with. The same innocent eagerness that he’s known all these years, the same sweet warmth. With the illuminating letters of the storefront casting harsh white light onto him, his eyes are not golden pools of honey shimmering in the sun, fit for fairytale pixies to feast on, and the gentle youth gracing his lips or brows isn’t visible, but in this fleeting moment of gaze against gaze, bashful longing, and grey snow, Sehun lets himself be swept away by his infatuation. His reverie is swiftly disrupted by Jongin’s words. 

“You came,” he said. It’s the same old song, it always is - because Jongin is familiarity, Jongin is the extra pack of pepero Sehun buys at the convenience store on the way to his apartment for late-night binge sessions over a can of beer or two and quiet, intimate conversation, Jongin is enamel bear pins and grease stains on paper, fingers carding through Sehun’s hair. 

“I wouldn’t miss it, would I?” Sehun wears a smile, and it’s a real smile. It’s easy on the lips, moulds his eyes into the shape of a crescent moon. But behind it is an odd, throbbing pang within him - guilty indulgence. And as he treads on the fine, fine line between his indulgence and guilt, he realizes he isn't sure if it’s right for him to want to study all the ephemeral details of Jongin’s face, to note the way his brows ease back into his forehead, the way the tip of his lips arch inward when he smiles too wide. 

“Let’s go in,” he says, tugging on Sehun, fingers pressing against his bony wrist. His hands are cold, but when they leave Sehun’s warm hands, Sehun feels even colder.

The venue is small, parents squished up to the front with their phones at the ready, aimed towards their children. Jongin stays backstage, hidden behind velvet curtains and stage-light-less darkness. The kids totter about on stage in a surprisingly neat formation, spinning around and flitting about with their uncoordinated limbs as music echoes in the hall. They’re adorable, Sehun thinks, with their bright-eyed smiles and their enthusiasm, willingness to please. 

The recital concludes with the shuttering snaps of parents’ phones, Jongin crouching down with an arm wrapped around his toothy-grinned students’ shoulders, a couple boxes of chocolate and handwritten cards richer. 

“That was great. They were so adorable,” Sehun says, beaming.

Jongin offers him a jittery smile, faint worry flashing through his eyes before it’s replaced immediately with excitement and giddiness. “Really? I was a bit worried...but I think they did really great. I’m proud of them. We were cleaning it up just before the curtains were drawn back...and stuff, and it was less refined than I would’ve liked it to be but...” he rambles, a child-like lilt to his voice. A shy twinkle of the eye between strands of brown hair. 

“I’m serious. It was great, you did great,” a soft smile finds its way onto his lips. “Wanna go for dinner now?”

The tension bleeds away, shoulders relaxed. “Of course,”

-

“Hey,” comes a familiar voice. Sehun whips around, features softening when he comes face-to-face with who it is.

He shuts his textbook closed, finger sandwiched between the pages. “Baekhyun, what are you doing here?”

Baekhyun shrugs, curling up into his coat, nose bitten red by the winter cold. “Not much,” he squeezes Sehun’s shoulder. “I was just stopping by to return some books. What about you?”

“Studying,” he sighs, giving his notebook a dejected look. “Not really, actually. But that’s besides the point,”

Baekhyun perks up instantly, a twinkle in his eyes. “You wanna go grab lunch with me? We can get like, sandwiches at Starbucks or something,”

Sehun hesitates for a moment. “...Sure,”

-

“So…” Baekhyun begins, scooting his chair into the table. He throws his coat over the chair, rubbing his fingers together gleefully before taking a swig of hot chocolate, but a wince instantly spreads across his face. He gulps it down anyways, pained expression slowly disappearing. “Fuck. That was hotter than I expected,”

Sehun chuckles softly. “You good?”

“Yeah. Just a little caught off guard is all I guess, and my tongue is a little numb now,” he shrugs, eager fingers already getting to work, cellophane package crinkling. “Jongin’s busy?”

Sehun’s brows dart up. “Um. No, I don’t think so. Why’d you ask?”

Baekhyun looks up bewildered at Sehun just before shoving a hefty mouthful of sandwich in. “Huh?” he carefully slides the sandwich out, looking conflicted between it and Sehun. “Guess you’ll just have to wait,” he murmured dejectedly, patting the bread gently. Sehun eyed him warily, cold fear settling into his skin. “Anyways, I just meant that you and Jongin are - have been attached by the hip. I mean, you guys have always been that way, but yeah, you guys are rarely around these days so I just assumed…”

Sehun remains fixed on Baekhyun’s words. “Assumed…?”

He shakes his head, fingers reaching for his sandwich. “No. Nothing,” he says hastily. “Just a little surprised is all,”

Sehun hums in response. “Well, now that you mention it...it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Baekhyun nods, hair bouncing. “Yeah,” he chomps down, lettuce crunching under his teeth. “Winter break is coming up. We were gonna do Secret Santa. You down?”

Sehun blinks. “Oh. Who else is doing it?”

“Well, there’s me…” Baekhyun brings out a thumb, eyes staring off into space. “Jongdae, Chanyeol, um…” his index finger and middle finger. “I’ll text Jongin after this. And Junmyeon said he might not be able to come on the day of, but he’s still gonna try to participate,” he takes another bite of his sandwich, tomato slice sliding over the crust. 

“When?” 

“Does the twenty-third sound good?”

“I should be free, yeah,” he smiles close-lipped. “How’ve you been doing though? I’m...Sorry for not replying to your text messages and stuff,”

Baekhyun snorts. “I mean, even when you’re not busy you’re not the best at responding to text messages,”

Sehun shrugs, a chuckle slipping from his lips. “I just don’t find it interesting,”

“What - me?” Baekhyun cackles and takes a sip from his hot chocolate, gingerly blowing through the hole, wisps of steam flowing out. “Same old same old. I got a new TV, so that’s kind of exciting I guess? What about you?”

He heaves out a long sigh, sinking into the seat. “Eh. I’ve been taking extra shifts at the restaurant, which is why I’ve been busy. That and finals,”

Baekhyun gives him a sympathetic look. “Tough luck, but we’re in the same boat. It’ll be over before you know it, and then all you have to do is wait for spring break, and then summer break,” he sighed dreamily. “I can’t wait,”

Sehun raises a brow. “Plans?” 

“Are you asking if I’ve got any?” he snorts, scrunching his brows smugly. “No. Unless you consider holing myself up in my room and playing PubG all day long a plan,” 

Sehun rolls his eyes, tutting his tongue. “I don’t know what I expected of you. But same here I guess. I can’t wait to quit,”

“Quit what?”

“My job,” he shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. “I’ll have the money soon, so I don’t really need to continue,” 

Baekhyun cocks his head, holding up a piece of ham to inspect it before nibbling on it. “What are you even saving up for? You’ve been working yourself to the bone these past few months,”

Sehun grins sheepishly, shy blush creeping up his neck. “I don’t really...wanna say,”

Baekhyun squints at him for a long moment. “...Okay,” he says finally. “I won’t make you,”

Sehun sighs. “Thanks. It’s nothing bad though, so no worries,”

“I know it’s nothing bad, but you know…” he shrugs, a knowing grin on his lips. “I’m just kind of curious,”

-

Jongin comes in stolen moments, in breathless stares and the small voice of nagging in Sehun’s head. He’s late-night study sessions, frayed denim, sweatered arms, the scent of musky, fruity perfume, one too many cups of water spilt, gleeful waving, pouty lips, and vivid eyes. 

“You’re blanking out,” Jongin says, bending down, face tilted towards Sehun’s blank face. 

“Uh...sorry,” Sehun replies dumbly. “Can you explain that again?”

Jongin grumbles and groans, but always throws on a knowing smile and sighs. “It’s…” his face scrunches up with stiff hesitation. “...are you okay Sehun? You blank out a lot these days,” 

Sehun knows it’s only worry, knows that Jongin genuinely cares, and it’s present in the sombre curve of his eyes, the tired curl of his brows. “I’m fine. I don’t know, maybe I slept wrong or something,” he shrugs. Jongin eyes him warily but doesn’t push the matter any longer.

“Okay. Sure. Anyways…” he mutters something under his breath that Sehun doesn’t catch. “Are you going to Baek’s Christmas party? We’re doing Secret Santa again this year,”

Sehun nods absently. “Yeah I bumped into him at the library earlier this week, we always go, it’s tradition,”

“Have you checked your elfster yet?”

“Uh, no,” Sehun lies, tone betraying him.

Jongin clicks his tongue. “You’re lying. Who’d you get?”

“I don’t wanna say,”

-

Winter is a season of many things, it is for first snows, for stolen kisses under glowing lamp posts, for sponge cakes with copious amounts of fresh cream and strawberries glopped on, for cigarette butts to litter and stain the ground, for suffocatingly thick coats of down and chilled-pink knuckles, for gorging on greasy noodles, pitiful desire, and sleepy breaths. Unresolved reckonings and not-so-subtle fears and avoidance. And guilt is a dastardly, ugly thing. It begins with text messages responded to slightly too late, with tense shoulders against soft hands, picking up extra shifts, then offers to hang out politely declined, awkward silence, and more awful, awful guilt. 

“You know,” Sehun says, jabbing recklessly into his plate of fried noodles with his wooden chopsticks, the flavor of sawdust lingers on his tongue. “I’m not really hungry anymore,” 

Jongin looks up at him, under the glare of some cheap, broken LED ceiling panels, there’s something pale and gritty under his skin. “Well,” he says, a piece of broccoli still impaled on the throngs of his fork. “You can bring it home,”

Sehun swallows thickly, looking down at the plate of food, melancholy. But there is little to cry about when it comes to a sizzling plate of freshly pan-fried noodles, “Yeah...” he clears his throat. He hums in response. “I’m gonna...go to the counter to get a container. I’ll be back,” he mutters, scooting out of the booth, the leather all cracked up, foam batting spilling out of the chinks. It makes a soft, grating noise against the denim of his jeans. 

“Okay,” Jongin says softly, stuffing a piece of broccoli into his mouth. He chews and chews, feels every sprout of broccoli against his tongue. When Sehun finally returns, Jongin’s biting his lips, looking up at him. There’s a dark, unreadable expression in his eyes, it’s lost, murky, and misplaced. “Are you sure you’re okay? I mean, it didn’t look like it,” he says, frowning. 

He sighs, crossing his arms. “I’m telling you, Jongin,” he says, smiling. There’s a hint of mirth dancing along his lips. Somehow, it makes the odd guilt he feels in his chest grow lighter. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me...you should take care of yourself more instead,”

He snorts, shaking his head softly. “Sehun, I’m fine. You know I’m fine,”

“You spend all day teaching kids at the studio after your classes are over,” he points out. “You barely have time to finish up your assignments, shouldn’t I be worried?”

“I guess so, but I do fine for myself anyways,” he chuckles, adjusting the fleece blanket on his lap, he purses his lips, a grimace crosses his face for a second - it disappears just as quickly as it comes, but he catches it. But memory is a tricky thing, it is fickle, it is unreliable, it is warped perspective - maybe that’s what he saw. “Well…” he begins.

“Well…?” 

“Nothing,” says Jongin. “Nothing,” he presses his lips together, swallowing. 

“Oh,” he says, 

“Do you...not like me anymore Sehun?” he asks, eyes lingering on Sehun’s pale skin. “You’re...Maybe I misunderstood it. You look tired,” he says softly as a guilty look crosses his face, hands reaching out naturally to cup Sehun’s face - a frame to a canvas. Sehun flinches and backs away, watching desperately as Jongin’s expression falls away. 

“Stop worrying about what I think,” he says, but his tone is soft - there is nothing authoritative or commanding about his statement. It’s a plea. 

Something flashes in Jongin’s eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asks, voice small. Sehun hates it. Hates everything, really. Hates the breathlessly powerful infatuation that’s been festering in the gritty crevices of his heart, hates that Jongin loves him so much - but not in the way he wants to be loved, hates that he can’t reconcile with the time-worn emotion within him, caked in years’ worth of yearning and guilty pleasure - even for Jongin’s sake, hates that he allows Jongin to indulge in him like this, hates that it’s his fault they’re at a stalemate, grey area, off-white, dangling in the middle of nowhere. 

He purses his lips, neck craning downward, there’s a prickle of shame burning at the nape of his neck. “Nothing. You didn’t...do anything. I’m just...” he sighs, knuckles turning white. 

“Then why are you acting so weird around me?” he sets his chopsticks down on his plate. “If it’s not school or work or - or something else, then what is it?” He can feel it - tangible, pulsing, the heavy weight of Jongin’s disappointment. 

Sehun stares at him for a long, long moment, but Jongin’s stubborn gaze is unyielding, his jaw is set, his lips are pursed - he’s ready for a night-long interrogation. “...I don’t know,” he lies, voice wisping away like tendrils of smoke, fading rumbles of thunder. He’s been caught.

He sighs, folding his arms together. Ugly silence ensues. “I know you do. Look...I-I don’t wanna fight. I know you’re tired, I am too. You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to, and I don’t wanna misunderstand you, but at least don’t lie to me,” he says. There’s a tremble in his voice that shouldn’t be there, and Sehun’s stupid heart clenches distressingly at the sound of it. 

“I’m sorry,” he mutters quietly.

But winter is also for snow-cloaked silence, and wispy clouds of breath, for walking side by side to the melody of rubber soles scratching against icy snow under the cold glow of the city lights. 

-

Sunday evenings, however, are reserved for quiet lamentations and the evening sun, hazy hues of pink and orange, colorful strokes of light pressed against the otherwise drab wall of Sehun’s apartment. A knock sounds at the door and Sehun scrambles to slip on a pair of jeans, only to be met with the sight of Jongin in his camel coat, knit turtleneck lopsided, breathless look in his eyes when he cracks open the door. There’s a drink carrier in one of his hands, a piece of lint stuck to the seams of his sleeves, and a hint of apology in the curve of his lips. A half-formed “sorry” tips Jongin’s tongue, but never comes to fruition, because Jongin and Sehun operate with a special language - lingering gazes, the brush of skin against skin, and languid silence. And that means apologies are more often than not conveyed through wary glances, hesitant hands, and in the winter - peppermint hot chocolate. 

Sehun blinks, staring at Jongin for what feels like an eternity. “Come in,” he says, wide-eyed, swinging the door wide open. In his haste, he invites the chilly breeze in too. 

“It’s so cold in here…” Jongin comments offhandedly as he sets down the drinks on Sehun’s dining table, kicking his shoes off. 

The door slams shut. “Oh...Sorry about that. Did you want me to turn on the heater?”

Jongin shakes his head. “It’s fine...I don’t plan on staying too long,” 

“Oh,” a swell of disappointment crawls into Sehun’s gut, ugly and misconceived. 

Disconcerting silence fills up the space between them, unspoken words, and quiet longing. “I’m…” Jongin begins, unsure of his words, his fingers toy with the lapels of his coat. “Sorry about...last week at dinner. I’ve been um...nevermind,” he mutters. “I still care, you know. And I’m sorry for not giving you the space you needed. If…” he paused, swallowing down the ache in his throat. “I know you’re busy. I know that things are overwhelming you right now, so if you need me to back off, or if you need me to be here for you...I’m here,” he looks up, a timid twinkle in his eyes, hesitation across his chilled lips. 

Sehun cracks a small smile, brows tilted downwards. There’s an uninvited skip in the rhythm of his heartbeat, and he prepares a barrage of self-directed insults to swallow down later. “I’m not mad Jongin,”

“I know...but I felt bad. And I feel like you’ve been so distant lately,” he chews on his lower lips, pinching his sleeves. “I just want us to be fine,” There’s something frail and torn in the crease of his brows, something unsure in the purse of his lips. Sehun doesn’t catch it.

“We’re fine,” he replies, a faint smile spreads across his cheeks.

Jongin looks up, a comforting hand reaching for the back of his neck as he loosens slightly, mellow lips curving upwards. “I um...I got you some drinks,” he points to the drink carrier. “Peppermint hot chocolate and white chocolate mocha,”

He raises a brow, turning to Jongin. “Are both for me?”

“Yeah, why? You don’t like it?” a wary look slips onto his face, fragile, careful, voice tight with defense.

“...I just - you’re not gonna stay to have some?” 

A genuine smile - stretched wide - breaches Jongin’s stiff expression, and Sehun melts a little more. He  _ should _ be busy cursing his stupid heart for the stupid burden of these stupid feelings - for getting him wrapped up in this mess in the first place - but he’ll let himself wallow in sweet self-pity later. 

-

But Sehun cares too much - cares too much about Jongin to let his stupid feelings ruin their friendship, too much about the guilt that Jongin would feel if he knew that he couldn’t reciprocate the same feelings. Because Jongin loves Sehun too much to want to hurt him - he just doesn’t love Sehun in the way Sehun wants to be loved. But pining gazes a second too long, needy grips, and the giddy leap of his heart when Jongin throws his head back and giggles prettily betray Sehun’s intentions, betray his actions in the form of his longing, aching heart and gentle, needy hands. 

“I thought you called me over to help you with your English finals,” Jongin snorts, shoving a handful of cheddar popcorn into his mouth. “Why are we watching Hell’s Kitchen?”

Sehun lets out a prolonged groan, burying his face into a throw pillow. “Haven’t we studied enough? I’ll be fine, I think,”

Jongin hums sing-song and shrugs. “I don’t know, it’s your exam, not mine,”

Sehun sighs. “You saying that makes me feel bad about not studying. I’m sure I’ll be fine, plus - I just need to get a C to pass the class with a B,” 

He thins out his lips, humming nonchalantly. “I mean, sure,”

Sehun says nothing in response and only grabs the remote, sifting through other clips on Youtube, and finally settling for an action movie on Netflix. It’s filled to the brim with the cacophony of screeching metal, grunting, and lazily muttered curses. Somewhere in between the shouting of sweat-stained characters and the whirring of fast cars, Sehun finds Jongin sandwiched between his arms, hair brushing against his chin, the broad warmth of his back firm and steady. His right leg is squished between Jongin’s bony knees, and he can hear Jongin’s shallowing breathing, sense his drowsiness. Against the flickering glare of the TV lights, engulfed by the murky dimness of night, Sehun’s greed grows a little more, solid against his chest. A finger loops over Jongin’s, his nose pressed to the nape of Jongin’s neck - lavender and fresh cotton. Jongin stirs slightly and Sehun stiffens, prickling heat at the back of his neck, but Jongin settles back into his touch, back to his painfully greedy fingers, tightening around Jongin’s. If only he knew.

“Let’s nap,” he says, snuggling his head against Sehun’s chest, voice distorted by a yawn. 

And Sehun relents - he knows he shouldn’t, but Jongin is a guilty pleasure, and Sehun is all too happy to oblige and indulge. “Sure,” he mumbles into Jongin’s neck, and he presses the off button on the remote, lets the room fade into mellow darkness, dizzying comfort, and the faint buzz of the TV.

-

Time comes and goes, and after the first snow comes the second snow, fresh mounds of white piled up on the railing of Baekhyun’s balcony. The wind is mild, and the snowflakes come fluttering down, swaying around like lazy palm fronds in the summer. Jongdae and Chanyeol are oddly fixated on the TV, hunched forward with their elbows resting on their knees to peer wide-eyed at the TV. Gunshots sound in the background, and the collective sound of Chanyeol and Jongdae groaning rings through the apartment. 

Baekhyun’s eyes scan over the counter, sprinkle jars, cookie cutters, and tubs of frosting askew over mottled granite. “Can you hand me the - yep, that’s it,” Sehun pinches the lopsided piping bag, red frosting in bright patches across his palms. 

“Here,” he says softly. 

Baekhyun lets out a tired sigh, wiping his hands against his gingerbread man apron, green and red streaks of icing in their wake. “They look...decent? I think?”

Sehun laughs, eyeing the caved-in roof of the gingerbread house, white frosting sloppily hanging from its eaves. “I might say the same if it’d just gone through an earthquake,”

Baekhyun pouts, shoving Sehun with his hip. “I tried!” he grumbles. “And plus, you didn’t wanna help me hold up the walls while I was icing them so of course the roof would fall and crumble,” he says pointedly, shoving a threatening piping in Sehun’s face. 

“Why are you getting mad at  _ me _ ?” Sehun frowns, brows pinched together. “You should be yelling at Chanyeol and Jongdae for sitting over there and watching  _ Die Hard _ without helping us,”

“Baekhyun rented the movies from the library, it’d be rude not to watch the movies,” Chanyeol shouts from the living room. 

“Exactly,” chimes in Jongdae. 

Baekhyun heaves out a sigh, untying his apron with deft fingers. “You know what? It doesn’t even matter, because I’m not gonna let those two assholes eat the cookies,”

“If you made them then I doubt they taste good,” Chanyeol huffs. Jongdae laughs along with him, and Sehun 

Baekhyun’s jaw drops, blinking in disbelief as Sehun struggles - in vain - to stifle a laugh.“I got them from the bakery across campus, first of all. It was a cookie decoration kit, so yes - they are, in fact,  _ very _ good,” he snaps.

“What? That’s not even fair! If you’d told us that then we would’ve helped,” Jongdae whines, rushing to the kitchen entryway to sneak a not-so-subtle glance at the shortbread cookies, wild arrays of red, green, and white frosting and sprinkles caked on top. 

“No - God, I meant what I said,” Baekhyun huffs, slapping Jongdae’s hand away.

The doorbell sounds and Sehun’s heart does a stupid little leap. Baekhyun runs over to the door, enveloping Jongin in a bone-crushing hug. Jongin stands still, grinning softly at Sehun over Baekhyun’s shoulder. Sehun returns the smile, eyes crinkling upwards by no impetus of his own.

“Oh God. Finally. I’m so happy you’re here,” he pulls away, glancing at the gift bag and blue box in Jongin’s hands. 

“Sorry for coming late,” he shakes his head, hood wiggling off. “There was a kid whose parents were late so I was waiting with them. But look - I stopped by Paris Baguette and got us a cake!” he grins proudly as he holds up the cake. “It has little reindeer decorations too,”

“Oh, thank God. Is it vanilla?” Chanyeol asks.

“Um,” he purses his lips, staring intently at the blue box. “I’m actually not sure. I just bought the cake with the Christmas decorations on top,”

“Here, I’ll take your stuff,” Baekhyun sets the cake box in the fridge, then places the gift bag amongst all the other identical red gift bags, shuffling them around. 

“Thanks Baek,” Jongin sheds himself of his padded coat, throwing it into the lumpy pile of jackets on the couch. 

“We actually just finished up the cookies and I think Chanyeol and Jongdae have just finished Die Hard too,” Baekhyun claps his hands together. “So if you guys want to eat, or watch a movie. Or do both at the same time…? And then we can exchange gifts,”

“We haven’t finished though,” Jongdae whines.

“There’s only like thirty minutes left I think,” Chanyeol adds. 

“And you’ve watched it every other Christmas,”

Jongdae and Chanyeol make collective noises of complaint, flopping onto the couch. 

-

Sehun isn’t quite sure when it began. When shredded hope began to bloom in his heart, when it began to take root in his veins, when pathetic desire began to leave lingering bruises on his conscience, when Jongin’s touch began to burn against his skin, when the absence of it began to leave him feeling terribly cold and empty. Some part of him knows that it’s always been there, a neglected, woeful undercurrent thrumming through the rhythm of Jongin’s laughter, his flitting gaze from under his bangs, long days and longer nights in meaningless, meaningful conversation, legs tangled together in cuddling sessions spent watching classic Christmas films.

“Are you even paying attention?” Jongin whispers, breath hot against Sehun’s cheek.

“No,” he mutters, turning his head into the fleece blanket resting on the arms of the couch. I’m kind of sleepy, might nap, don’t tell Baekhyun,” 

Jongin giggles, curling up against Sehun, sock-covered-toes brushing against his ankle. His heart clenches, and all drowsiness slips away. “Go sleep, I’ll wake you up when the movie’s about to end,”

  
  


-

“Holy shit, a fifty dollar League of Legends gift card? Is this...I’m gonna go Jongin,” he turns to Jongin, cocking his head slightly.

Jongin shakes his head, hair rustling against Sehun’s knit sweater. “No, sorry,”

Baekhyun scans the group, hissing through his teeth. “...Jongdae?” 

He nods, catty smirk playing on the corners of his lips. “Yep,”

“You went so over budget, I might just feel a little bad about not letting you eat the cookies now,” he jokes. “I’m kidding. You can eat them, obviously. But...thanks, seriously,” he shoots Jongdae a grin. 

“I was feeling a little generous. What can I say?” he shrugs, sly lips and slyer brows. His hands immediately reach for the plate of cookies up on the dining table.

“Okay...and this next gift is for Chanyeol. Really light,” Baekhyun remarks, shaking the bag around. “It sounds like it’s just a card or something. Here,” he says, handing the bag over to Chanyeol.

“Let’s see…” he pulls out a card, a cartoonish image of glittery reindeer gobbling on cookies and milk rendered onto the front, and opens it up, a receipt falling out, a short message scrawled onto the interior in handwriting that Sehun recognizes immediately as Jongin’s. “Woah. What the fuck? LogicPro?” he glances between the card and the group.

“Read the message,” Sehun says.

“Oh. Right. It says ‘Merry Christmas Chanyeol. You’ve been blabbering about how you wanted a better mixer, so I decided this would be the best way to shut you up.’” Chanyeol barks out a laugh. “Uh...I feel bad if I get this wrong so let me think for a bit,” he squints between Baekhyun, Jongin, and Sehun, lips pursed and brows knit. “I’m uh...is it Jongin? Maybe?”

Jongin’s face immediately stretches into a beaming grin. “Yeah. Don’t worry about the money by the way, it’s really no big deal,”

Chanyeol blinks, jaw agape. “It is a big deal. The budget was supposed to be twenty dollars. What are you running on the side?” he cackles, roaring laughter cacophonous.

Jongin giggles again, shoulders accidentally jabbing into Sehun’s arm. “Nothing, of course not. Some of the kids’ parents at the studio felt bad that I was teaching them for free so some have been slipping me checks, and I thought it’d be nice to splurge for Secret Santa,”

“Holy shit. Thank you dude. I feel so bad, I’ll treat you out somewhere nice,” Sehun’s gut stirs, and he wills the ugly jealousy crawling in his throat down to no avail. “C’mere,” he lets out anothering booming laugh as Jongin dives in for a hug, eyes twinkling with glee. 

“You really don’t have to. But hey, I’m not one to turn down a nice steak,” he winks, pulling away and drawing back to Sehun’s side. Sehun tenses as Jongin slumps against him, hand tugging absently at frayed threads hanging off the sleeve of his sweater. Jongin notices, Sehun knows - can tell by the slightly crestfallen look in his eyes, head tilting up gingerly. It’s stupid - he knows it’s stupid. But his stupid heart yearns on anyways, loves a little harder than it should, hurts Jongin more than it should. And he tears his eyes away, is too much of a coward to confront the lingering emotion wrought into Jongin’s wide eyes, the lingering touches burnt onto his arm, the lingering laugh of Jongin’s that resounds in his mind. It’s pathetic, stained with misplaced possessiveness, entitlement, things that Jongin is too good for to be subject to. But he’s too suspended in the moment, and every fibre of his being yearns for, aches for Jongin, so he sits, shoulders squared and lips thinned out - a warmth too cold at his side.

“Oh. This next one is Jongin’s,” Baekhyun comments softly, giving Sehun a wary look. “Also light. Might be good again, huh?” Sehun’s heart skips a beat, and he glances over at Jongin as he detaches himself from Sehun’s side, reaching eagerly for the bag. Cold anticipation begins to trickle down his neck, prickling heat on his cheeks. 

“There’s an envelope,” Jongin murmurs, fingers carefully prying the flap open. He spreads the envelope open with two fingers, flipping through the pieces printer paper. “Holy fuck,” he mumbles breathlessly. “Is this for real?” 

“What? What is it?” Jongdae darts up from the floor. 

“It’s...a flight ticket to Toronto, with hotel reservations, and a VIP ticket to The Weeknd’s concert,” he says, voice tiny. “Holy fuck, oh my God. Sehun, is this you?” he whips his head around, no trace of hesitation in his voice.

“Jesus Christ. Did no one stick to the budget?” Jongdae mutters, a dumbfounded expression on his face. 

“Is this - were you -” Jongin begins, and Sehun wonders if Jongin knows. Wonders if he’s labouring in vain to reap the rewards of Jongin’s love, labouring in vain to fulfill his own little fantasy of a love returned, labouring in vain to justify the gaping chasm in his gut, labouring in vain to ache a little more, to yearn a little more, to indulge in a guilty pleasure at the expense of his best friend a little more. And in the midst of wondering, Sehun fails to catch the answer in front of him. “Thank you,” is the final statement Jongin settles on, painfully tender gaze full of the painfully wrong sort of love, and awful regret coils Sehun’s stomach tighter.

-

Where the winter is cold, bitter winds and velvety snow, the spring brings with the promise of fat raindrops against delicate blossoms, the hope of reconciliation from the clutches of the unforgiving winter. The spring is for thin cardigans and gazing up at the sky to see cherry blossom branches splayed out, fleshy pink petals against the blue sky, for shy daisy buds and cool breezes under the heat of the watchful sun’s eye. 

“Spring break is coming up,” Jongin says, stirring his ice cream soup absentmindedly. He glances up at Sehun, eyes wide and expectant.

Sehun blinks at him, tearing his lingering eyes away before they can arouse too much suspicion. “Yeah? What about it?”

“No I mean...you don’t have any plans? You’re not gonna...go out of town, travel or something?” he furrows his brows and gives Sehun a pointed look.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he snorts. “I usually stay at home anyways, and so do you,”

“Well...that’s true,” he says, flicking drops of melted ice cream onto the table with a brash wave of his spoon. “I just...was wondering if you’d wanna do something this year. I kinda feel bad still, about your gift,”

“Don’t. I wanted to give you that,” Sehun pauses. “Plus, what is there to do even?”

He hums, shrugging. “I don’t know. Maybe we could drive down to the beach and rent a house. That kind of sounds nice,”

Sehun grins. “Is that a plan?”

“Maybe,”

-

Maybe it’s the tender caress of waves on the shorefront, the way the wind always seems to carry with it last summer’s woes, the way the briny scent of the ocean stings his nose and the way it settles into his lungs so perfectly. Maybe it’s the soft sand shifting beneath his feet, cold water and frothy seafoam perched on shy waves. And maybe it’s the overcast sky hanging overhead, sparse clouds over a sky painted in white. Maybe that is why he so often finds himself drawn to the seafront, with the dreary, grey sea providing cold solace to his feet and the seams of his jeans, stubborn grains of sand dotting along the edges. A sudden buzz resonates from his back pocket, and, in greedy anticipation, he reaches immediately for his phone. 

_ what time are u gnna be back ? _

_ where are u?  _ comes a text message from Jongin. He smiles softly, features lit by the dim glow of his phone screen.

_ ill be back soon dw _ he replies, grabbing his sandals and rising to his feet, strolling towards the neat row of sandy bungalows resting on the beachfront. A forbidden, undeserving smile creeps onto his lips, hasty warmth spreading in his chest, he tugs on the strings of his hoodie and shoves his hand and phone back into his front pocket, jogging towards the olive bungalow he’s called home these past four days. When he stops in front of the door, an incriminating trail of sand behind him, his fingers brush over the knob, sandals plunking onto the wooden deck. Jongin opens up the door, warm eyes, warm hands, warm smile. 

Sehun cracks a little, heart weak with want. The yellow porch light sheds amber light onto Jongin’s cheekbones, mild glow in his eyes. He’s a man damned to the miserable misfortune of infatuation. But at least it’s only infatuation, and it’ll fade soon - he’s sure. It’ll become a little speck in the distance, a forgotten memory. But the fluttering of his ribs, the faint throbbing in his cheeks, the guilty desire unfurling at the back of his mind seem to contradict his predictions. 

“Hey,” Jongin says, he smiles, pauses for a moment. 

Sehun stands still, feet planted on the floor. “Hey,” he grins softly, eyes crinkling.

“Close your eyes,” Jongin says, glee tinging his voice. Sehun gives him a questioning look but relents anyways, a curious grin stretched across his lips. He grabs Sehun by his arm, fingers curling around his biceps as he leads him towards the kitchen, hesitant feet shuffling across the wooden floor. “Open them,” he says, voice barely a whisper.

When Sehun opens his eyes, he’s greeted with the sight of messy frosting swept haphazardly against yellow sponge, lopsided strawberries coated with powdered sugar, lit candles jabbed into the cake. But there’s steady, untrained care in the asymmetric hearts piped onto the side, concentration in the barely legible chocolate frosting reading  _ “Happy 21st Sehun.”  _ Unwanted, humiliating affection - infatuation - burns low in his gut, but it slips away when he jerks around and sees the tender adoration glimmering in Jongin’s eyes, the hopefulness and apprehension, and it’s replaced immediately by the gushy, hazy flavor of comfort, knowing, of sincerity and countless memories, brutally painful want sharp in his chest. He drowns in it, and every trace of  _ infatuation _ , fizzles, disintegrates. But it doesn’t go out with a bang, it goes out with a fading whimper, has been fading for some time now, replaced by something more, something stronger.

“Happy Birthday,” Jongin grins, leaning into Sehun for a hug. He pulls away briefly, suddenly shy. “I know it looks really awful, but it tastes great - I promise. I really tried my best but I accidentally left out the frosting too long and it started to melt so I-” he rambles, only to be cut off by Sehun.

“Thank you,” a smile strains his cheeks. “I love it,”

Jongin perks up, shoulders free of tension, as his eyebrows, shoot up and his jaw hangs agape. “Really? You do?”

Sehun nods. “Of course. I...,” he says breathlessly.

Jongin grins, then frowns slightly, dissatisfaction wrinkling his brows. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get you anything better. I mean, I asked you but you said you were fine with nothing but I didn’t want to just give you nothing...so I thought it’d be nice to surprise you with an early birthday cake,” he rambles.

“No no, I love it Jongin,” his voice drops to a soft, quiet whisper. “Really, I do. Thank you,”

Jongin grins, eyes curving up and brows relaxed as his hand rests on Sehun’s forearm, there’s warm relief and more - more in Jongin’s eyes that Sehun remains blind to. “Go on, make a wish,” 

And Sehun blows the candles, watches the flames flicker away and turn to curling wisps of grey smoke, rising. He makes a stupid wish, courtesy of his stupid heart, and, turning his eyes to the gentle curve of Jongin’s bright eyes, he drowns a little more, a grain of sand pulled into the tides. 

-

But the grey sky doesn’t relent the next day either, nor does Sehun’s longing. It teeters on the edge of a wild tempest and mundane dreariness, sticky skin and chilly breezes. The waves crash and ebb against the shore, resounding, clustered and fuzzy ocean melodies spraying against Sehun’s face. Jongin is leaning against him, cuddled up and swaddled in a sweater and thin raincoat. He murmurs soft words into the air, turning his cheek against Sehun’s shoulder. The wind whips his hair up, a storm of brown tufts swirling about. 

“It’s cold,” he grumbles, curling in on himself as he clutches onto Sehun’s arm. 

Sehun raises a brow, blaming the biting wind for the pink flush on his cheeks. “Should we go back then?”

“No…” he mumbles. “I’ll be fine,” he lets out a short chuckle. “You’re not cold?”

“I like the cold,” he hums, lazing into the warmth of Jongin’s body. “It’s refreshing,” 

Jongin sighs, pursing his lips as he presses his legs against Sehun’s. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? The ocean,”

“It is,” he pauses, eyeing Jongin thoughtfully. “Do you remember the field trip we went on in middle school?”

Jongin shifts, hair rustling against Sehun’s jacket as he stares at him. “Which?”

“We went up to these lakeside cabins,” he mumbles, wistful, reminiscent gaze in his eyes. 

“Oh,” Jongin pales. “God...please don’t bring that up again,”

Sehun cackles. “Why?”

He glares at Sehun, silent threat in his eyes. “I  _ know _ it was stupid,” he grits.

Sehun pushes on anyways, snickering. “But it’s funny. Come on,” he jeers, a sloppy grin stretched proudly across his face. “Admit it, it was funny,”

“It wasn’t for me,” Jongin whines, fingers digging harshly into the flesh of Sehun’s arm.

Sehun ignores the dull pain throbbing in his shoulder. “But it was for  _ me _ ,” he lets out a bark of laughter. “How did you even manage to do that?”

Jongin pulls away and crosses his arms, shoving Sehun, who falls to the sand. “I couldn’t swim back then and I panicked because the water was super murky and there were like...these plants at the bottom. It just...was not good, okay?” he huffs. 

Sehun crinkles his brows, a delighted grin pulling at the corner of his lips. “But it was only four and a half feet deep, and it wasn’t that murky,”

“I  _ know _ ,” Jongin grumbles, smile fighting against his pout, he crosses over Sehun - looming over him, a mischievous set of teeth on display. “Should I bring up the time you -”

“It’s my birthday today,” Sehun squawks indignantly as his brows shoot up. He pushes himself up, hands pressed against damp grains of sand. “You can’t do that,”

And when he meets Jongin’s eyes - mere centimetres away from him, he doesn’t miss the odd flicker in them, the fragile hope. For a moment, there are only electric pulses in the air and tentative, barely restrained urges. 

“Jongin?”

“Yeah?”

“Is it -”

“Please,”

Edging on his last bit of shame and greedy desire, Sehun breaches Jongin’s space, seals the chasm between the two.

And it’s soft. It’s hesitant, but wanting, willing, and wet. It’s shy pecks and nibbles, tender flesh and tender touch, the clumsy press of Sehun’s nose against Jongin’s. He feels Jongin’s warm hands on his biceps, the way his fingers curl into his skin when Sehun grazes his teeth against his lower lip. And it aches, blooms and spurts from his chest like age-old roots buried under thick slabs of concrete. There is a little fear, a little apprehension and thoughtfulness in the delayed rhythm of Jongin’s lips moving against his. But underneath it all looms fragility, fear - in the same electrifying feeling that constricts his chest, blood thrumming and pulsing through his ears, when Jongin smiles too wide, when his fingers and hands linger too long, leave behind patches of burning skin. 

Sehun falls a little more, lets greed pool in his gut. And he takes, he takes like he’s a starved man, ravenous, needy, relentless. Thumb positioned on Jongin’s chin, he sinks in more, pushes harder. And in the moment, so focused on the pleasant buzz in his lips, the warmth of Jongin’s mouth and tongue, his hands curled into his hair, a slight tug. Whimpers fall from the cusp of Jongin’s lips, soft groans and the sticky sound of spit. He takes and takes, but there’s never enough of Jongin, never enough of the quiet moans bleeding out from his lips, the firm press of his fingers on Sehun’s chest, the selfish push of his tongue in Sehun’s mouth, and he breathes it in, drinks it all up, it fills his lungs - intoxicating, and he drowns, pulled down into warm depths curled around his skin.

Every deliberate sweep of the tongue, every smooth glide of the lips, every hastened, hot breath and he can’t even begin to tell anything apart anymore - whether he is being lulled into the trance of infatuation and pleasure or if this is real, if Jongin’s breathy groans are real, if his plush lips are hot, hungry, and hopeful against his, if his wandering hands are really cold against his stomach and pelvis. 

“I’ve - I’ve wanted this for so long,” he gasps, an easy giggle woven into his voice. 

Sehun laughs, disbelieving. “Me too,”

Jongin swoops into Sehun’s arms again. “Kiss me,” he urges, breath damp against Sehun’s cheek. He shudders, relents and smashes his lips against Jongin’s. There’s less hesitation, less fear, less fragility - and all that’s left behind is heady desire and tender proclamations of love, love, love. Sehun’s hands rest on the small of Jongin’s back as Jongin grips onto his shoulders, Sehun’s other hand wrapped around his wrist. There’s courage, authority, and confidence to the guided sway of Sehun’s lips, but there’s something so beautifully beastly, vile, and nasty about the squelching clash of tongues, lips, and unbridled yearning. 

And it’s then that Sehun realizes, knows that he has been loved the way he’s wanted to be loved, that, unravelling in buzzing, warm pleasure, it’s okay for him to love, to have a stupid heart with stupid, burdensome feelings. He wants to give, to forge greedy promises of the future, to lay down himself, to relent and drown in the dizzy want of Jongin. Hand pressed sweetly against the crook of Jongin’s neck, slow against the frantic crash and ebb of the gloomy waves and salted air, he knows.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are always much appreciated :D <3 Thank you for reading!


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